|Of a feather 18 x 24 Pastel|
As a child, Jazz was not my parents music, it was mine. I grew up listening to Soul music or R&B. It was the music my mom played on a Saturday morning, cleaning house. Sunday mornings were gospel music played on the radio on the way to church, while at church or on the way home. This was the "main stay," the bread and butter, if you will. But Jazz music? That was my own style. I mean as early as I could remember, the sound of a trumpet howling or a saxophone wailing, with a drumbeat, a piano and bass playing, that was my style of music. And whether upbeat or mellow, I loved jazz music.
I loved colors and there was not much more exciting than a box of 16 crayons. Funny, I always felt like the box of 32 or 64 was extraneous; felt like Crayola was going overboard! Silver, bronze and gold felt like someone was trying too hard to please. But various shades of blue and reds, yellow and orange? I could work that box! And when I got my first set of water color paints, I was on my way!
Music is heard even now. In my head, there's always a beat going on. It combines with the sound of cars going by, this late part of the night. I hear the hum of the computer, the beat of my typing and it's all a wonderful melody. Then there are the colors. Blues, oranges, reds...pure heaven.
It's all energy...a wonderful buzzing and thrill to my senses...and it all speaks volumes to my soul. No, correction, it's all a reflection of my soul!